say something
by gypsy rosalie
Summary: This time, somehow, it's a hundred times worse. Joey/Roxy, set sometime between series 5 and 6.


**So I know I've been a long time away from fanfiction, and I came back with a different fic from the ones I'd promised, but I am still working on a Billy/Connie one, a more lighthearted Joetina and a few stray ATEOTD pieces, and those shall be up in time. But I've just come through a particularly painful breakup and I needed a creative outlet. I know this isn't my usual pairing, but they're what came out of my pen. I never understood how Joey could have stayed with Roxy after what she did to him, until I ended up in a similar situation and realised how hard it was to get out, even with the knowledge that it was the right thing. **

**Anyway, I'm not here to whinge. Enjoy some angst, on the house. Not really set at a particular point during canon, although it could fit somewhere between series 5 and 6.**

**Title is from the song _Say Something_ by A Great Big World and Christina Aguilera.**

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**say something; I'm giving up on you**

_There are some things even love can't weather._

The silence slashes and slices more than words could, and the pain swimming and brimming in that pair of dusky blue eyes does more to him than any weapon. It isn't even as though it's the first time they've done this, but each incidence is a fresh hell, a fresh wound.

Each time Joey and Roxy part, his heart dies inside him again.

And this time, somehow, it's a hundred times worse. Because this time, it's not Roxy storming off or phoning to tell him she's never coming back, it's not a realisation between the both of them that a relationship isn't possible while a young child needs care and attention. It's not an aggressive husband fighting for his wife back, giving him a black eye so he has to get out the way.

It's Joey ending it. It's his tongue that's rolling out the harsh words. It's him causing the pain, doing the heartbreak. And that _kills_.

Inflicting pain on others has never been something Joey excelled at. The idea of even something as little and insignificant as a spider suffering has been his downfall many a time. The pitiful yelping and whimpering of the dogs at the RSPCA has caused him to put his hand into his pocket time and time again, even when he was nearing broke. He's always tried to dry the tears of his younger siblings, because seeing them cry makes his own tear ducts begin to flow. Pain is something he'll shoulder to ensure no-one else feels it, bottling up his own agonies for the sake of sparing another- and to turn that on its head, to dish out a dose of that vile poison, is unbearable.

Roxy had been his world. He'd loved her in a way he'd loved no other, even when she'd been wishing his family dead or telling him he wasn't showing enough devotion to satisfy her. He'd loved her so long he'd begun to forget _why_ he loved her, just clinging to those shards of cheerful memories, from once upon a time, that told him he _did_.

And he does, even now. He looks at her, looking dwarfed by the armchair in the Adelphi hotel lounge, small and feeble and lost, her lower lip trembling and a tear catching between the fronds of her eyelashes, and he feels every kiss, every touch, every word whispered against his skin searing and burning him. Every word he ever spoke to her with love, every promise to protect her and care for her, burns into fragile wisps and wafts away before his eyes in little curls of smoke. He's a heartless bastard for ending this. She needs him. He's the only one who'd take her as she was, who'd stick by her once they'd learned of the pitfalls that inevitably came with a relationship with Roxy Hartwell. He's the only one who would give her chance after chance, make her feel someone still was willing to work for her.

But his entire life, his entire _self_, is too big a sacrifice. Joey has tried, so help him he has _tried_ to make things work. He's been investing his all, his everything into this. But his all, his everything, aren't enough. They'll never be enough for her. Roxy wants more. She wants what he can't give.

'_I loved you, Roxy_,' he'd said.

'_You loved me,'_ she'd replied, '_Tuesdays and Saturdays- in between come-home-Joey-all-is-not-well phone calls.'_

'_I loved you, Roxy,'_ he'd said.

'_Love,' _she'd spat with scorn. _'You use the word as if you understood what it means.'_

Oh, he understands what it means, all right. Joey understands. 'Love' means caring for the other person, accepting them, faults and all and supporting and appreciating them. 'Love' means that feeling when around them- that feeling that you would just reach out and hold them for the rest of eternity, so that they'd never feel sad again. 'Love' means a mutual bond, mutual support, mutual appreciation. It's a two-way street.

The 'love' Roxy is talking about means isolating himself from his family. It means dropping everything he's worked for, wanted, held dear all his life- to be hers and _only_ hers.

'_I don't understand,' _she'd said_. 'If you cared, Joey, you'd be with me. You'd be with me whatever the cost.'_

But that isn't 'love.' That's 'sacrifice.' That is complete sacrifice of self, of life- no compromise, no meeting halfway, no nothing. And Joey can't just burn all his bridges except one. It's just not who he is. Joey Boswell is a family man. Joey and the family, the family and Joey, they're a package. A done deal. They've got a place in his heart, and nothing can push them out.

Joey has room in his heart- and his life- for both. For Roxy _and_ the family. He could have done it. He could have worked it out, made sure they both felt attended to, both felt cared for- but Roxy just isn't having it. No compromise is good enough, no excuse reasonable, no suggestion worthy of consideration. She won't even come and meet his Mam again, too bogged down in her own jealousy to try and make peace with the other most important people in Joey's life. He'd wanted them to all come together, he really had- had daydreamed and envisioned Roxy coming to dinner, sitting around the table chatting with the rest of them. The night she'd stayed with them had opened his eyes- she was somehow there in every room, present and yet distant, and the others had found themselves creeping around her, a friction between them that crackled with unpleasantness every time it was set off. That wasn't what Joey had wanted at all. Little buzzers had begun to go off in his brain early on, warning him this wasn't right, that he should pull out before hopelessness set in.

But he hasn't pulled out, and the hopelessness hasn't just settled in, it's become a permanent, soggy blanket over their entire relationship. It's doomed, their bond. Him and her- it's just not supposed to happen. Joey and Roxy isn't a name combination that's ever meant to appear on wedding invitations, to be celebrated throughout the land as a success story. The Joey and Roxy saga is one of hardship and heartbreak, a cautionary tale to warn people of the perils of a match not made to last. And every day, every hour, every minute he spends with Roxy he _knows_, he just _knows_ this shouldn't be happening. It's torturing him, all these efforts to try and make his life with Roxy work around the family, to make his life with his family work around Roxy, when all he wants is for all of them to fit together.

You don't always get what you want, though, and when he sees Roxy start turning her attentions on one of the staff at the Adelphi (whether it's genuine attraction or to hurt him he's still not entirely sure, but either way it ends in his suffering) he just knows that, no matter how strong the bond he thinks he feels, he just cannot keep going on like this. He just can't. He's got no more energy left to salvage this. It's not a concept that he relishes, but he's _given up_.

Joey Boswell does not give up. _Some you win, some you have to postpone_, that's always been his motto, but suddenly the words turn to stone and crumble into dust. Even postponing can't always cure what can't be cured, fix what's irreparably broken. Some things you just can't win. And Joey is going to lose this battle forever, unless he calls it quits now and lets both of them heal.

And here he is now, devastated by the idea of causing hurt, even though he's been in this position many a time, has been wounded himself more times than he cares to count by the same person he's here to wound. And here she is, little and vulnerable, the façade she does best, the look she's been giving him during her separation with her husband, and when she's been trying to get money from him for the child that turned out not to be his. Perhaps she knows this look is the one that gets a reaction from him, that twists his heartstrings into tight little liquorice bootlaces inside his chest, perhaps she doesn't, but it's all a bit academic anyway. He's getting that feeling, either way.

'Roxy, look, this is a hard thing for me to have to do,' he says, clasping his hands together as he always does when discussing something awkward. 'I didn't wanna have to say it, sweetheart, it's just…'

Nothing. No _it's just what, Joey? _No _why?_ even. She doesn't even ask. She doesn't even make a noise of acknowledgement, just sits there, crumbling, and crumbling Joey's heart like a biscuit at the same time.

He takes a deep breath, summons the courage to speak again, to drag his vocal chords out of the phlegmy chasm that is his throat, and use them once more.

'Some things, Roxy,' he says, twisting the rings on his fingers so they begin to leave red welts in his skin, 'have to come to an end. Some things aren't destined to work out.'

Again, nothing. Just a few silent tears. No protests, no demands for an explanation. No acceptance either, though. Stunned silence and visible pain make up the picture in front of him, and Joey feels white hot pain shoot to his chest and explode in firework after firework at the knowledge that he hasn't just broken her- he's destroyed her. He's devastated her. If Roxy can't even talk back, complain, try and guilt him into staying, then she's hurt- more so than he's ever seen her.

_Say somethin', Roxy. Please, say somethin'._

She opens her mouth, and, instead of any words coming out, a solitary, sad little squeak escapes, sending tremors through Joey's body that threaten to force him to his knees. The guilt chews and gnaws and scuttles all over his insides. He has just broken the heart of the woman he loves- and no pain in the world can ever compare to that. He tries to remind himself of all the reasons for this- the selfishness, the isolation and the way he'd continue to drift apart from his family, the most secure, important thing he has in his life, if he continued with her, but none of these things seem to matter right now. All that matters is that little noise, and it rings and echoes and falls around in his head, clanking off the walls of his skull, filling every crevice in his brain and magnifying. It drowns out any logical thought, eats away any sense of nobility in the act. His body aches and craves to act, to reach out and cradle and hug until the words have died away and a smile returns to Roxy's face. He doesn't want to do what he's doing- to stand there, tall and cold and rigid. He tries to make his face gentler, but it won't do much good. He's not going back. Not now.

'I'm sorry, Roxy,' he says. 'I'm sorry I can't be what you need. I tried, really I did, but there comes a point when you just can't keep tryin' anymore.'

Again, no words, just that look- that shocked, frozen expression of despair that will live with Joey, will sizzle into every corner of his brain for eternity. He's trembling all over. If this scene doesn't end this second, his very organs will give way, and he'll be reduced to a shaking puddle on the floor.

'I'm _sorry_,' he says again, his voice shaking but his tone cutting through the air in a way which (he hopes) indicates the finality of the situation. It's over. There's no more discussion to be had. It's the only way.

For a few seconds Joey wonders whether it might be the right thing to do to lean in, to kiss her forehead, a tender, sweeter way of saying goodbye forever. But as he inclines his head half an inch forward he draws back again. He can't do that. If he administers that kiss he'll never get out, he'll be creating false hope where there is none- hope of a reunion in the future that can never be, hope of a friendship that could never last, hope of a hope that isn't there. A clean break is the only way to do this- to sever every last little piece of bone marrow, every little thread that still ties them together. It'll hurt a hundred times more, but it'll heal, not splint its way back into relapses.

So instead he turns around and makes for the door.

He still half-expects he to leap up and run after him, with a cry of _no, Joey, wait_, but none comes. He takes another step, keeps on walking, determined to push away the thought of turning round and looking. He already knows what he'll see- a statue, still in that position of shock and hurt, still looking at him and destroying the remnants of his already destroyed heart. Joey has already been heartbroken enough times on her account. She's deliberately inflicted pain on him many a time before; he can't forget _that_, no matter how easy at this moment it might be to.

He has to be done with this. And he has to be resolute that he's done with it.

He has to be strong. Joey knows that.

But it's so hard.

He keeps on walking, taking it one step at a time, trying to cope with each millisecond of agony as it comes, just focussing on getting back to his car, taking everything as it comes.

Joey makes it to the Jag, after what feels like several months of inching forward, wading his way through the grief, but instead of starting the engine up, he just sits there, wallowing. If he drove now, his inability to think would probably manoeuvre him into a wall, so he doesn't even try. He rests his head against the steering wheel, feeling the grooves from his fingers imprint into his forehead, and he lets the misery loose, lets it eat him, consume him, swallow him whole and spit him out, only to hone back in for an en core.

_I'm sorry,_ he moans again and again, as the process is repeated and the pain ebbs and flows, _I'm sorry, Roxy. I loved you, Roxy. I did. But I just couldn't take it anymore._

_I just couldn't take it._

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**Okay, now I've got that monstrosity out of my system, I can go back to writing the fics I was supposed to. Hope I'll come up with something better this time. But if you made it to the end, thanks for sticking with this car crash of a fic.**


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